Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble (22 page)

“Looks like it’ll be war,” Trent finished and downed his drink.

The mention of war left my palms clammy. Wars were one thing when you learned about them in history class or watched a news reporter in some godforsaken place via the TV. But when you, yourself, are thrown into the middle of a brewing one, it’s not an enviable position. And fighting against vampires, wolves and demons? I’d rather rent the movie, thank you very much.

Anne finished her drink and placed it on the table with a thud. Her glazed eyes and swaying body bore testament to the fact that she was inebriated. “I’m tired of talking about a pending war. There isn’t going to be any war with Bella—pretty soon we’re all going to have to face the Lurkers, and that’s going to be a war.”

“Why don’t you think there will be a war?” I asked, grabbing onto her words like they were a life preserver, and I was drowning in the middle of the Pacific.

Trent rolled his eyes, as if annoyed that I’d even broached the subject. Apparently, he thought there was going to be a war. Anne didn’t seem to notice.

“Because when it comes down to it, we aren’t going to be foolish enough to fight each other when there is a bigger enemy out there.”

I nodded, thinking she made a good point.

“Anne, it has nothing to do with being foolish. If Bella attacks, what are we going to do? Welcome her in with tea and crumpets?” Jeffrey asked, his voice soft as though trying not to be harsh on his sister.

I thought the tea and crumpets line was pretty funny and hid my smile in the sleeve of my shirt.

“How do we even know she’s building an army?” Anne continued, apparently annoyed at being ganged up on. I didn’t know enough of the situation to take sides.

“What else do you think she’s doing? She’s building an army—I’d bet my life on it,” Jeffrey finished and his lips were tight.

“Enough talk about war,” Anne said. “Let’s go dancing. I haven’t been to a club in ages.”

Trent faced me. “That could be fun. Are you up for it?” He gave me a little kiss on the tip of my nose.

I didn’t want to be the party pooper although I was tired and hoped to have a nice evening with Trent…alone. “Sure,” I said, thinking I was quite the party martyr.

Two hours later, I was drunker than I’d ever been. After my fourth amaretto sour, I’d lost count. There’s a point when you drink too much—past the point of the room spinning. That’s whe>Trewas and after dancing to what I could only class techno music, I slipped into a chair and watched as Trent, Anne and her brother danced together. Werewolves are physically stronger than humans are and can, therefore, dance longer than we can. And though I’m a witch, I still have that very human trait.

My gaze steadied on Trent as I watched him move to the rhythm of the music. I couldn’t help the tingle that ran up my spine. I frowned as Anne interrupted my focus. She was dancing very close to Trent and didn’t have his gift in the moves department. She threw her hair behind her shoulder, trying to draw his attention to it.

Give it up, Rapunzel
, I thought.

As I watched Anne attempt to flirt with Trent, my head started spinning and I caught my breath, hoping I wouldn’t pass out. I felt like I was on a techno merry-go-round, and it was all I could do not to fall off. The room stopped spinning, and I found my gaze resting on Anne and Trent again. I could see why she’d be attracted to him—he had a presence about him, a certain
je ne sais quoi'
.

I wasn’t in love with him, I was sure about that, but I cared a great deal for him. I did find myself wondering what our future would hold for us, though, as I figured his pack wanted him to date a wolf. As pack leader, he’d be expected to marry among his own kind and reproduce and he’d only be able to do so with another wolf.

This was one of the birds and bees conversations I’d had with Mathilda. She’d explained the natural order of things and while it’d been one of the oddest conversations we’d had, I’d learned a lot.

Apparently, witches and warlocks could reproduce together, but it was difficult for a witch to conceive. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I certainly wanted a family someday, but because that day seemed as far off as possible, the thought that it might be tough for me to conceive wasn’t as earth shattering as it otherwise might have been. And, who knew, maybe it was just hard for me to conceive with another witch. I’d neglected to clarify that little point with Mathilda.

Vampires were technically dead, so there was no bun in the ovens for them; fairies had an easier go of it and they could reproduce with anything—humans, witches, whatever. I guess they were like the rabbits of the Underworld. Demons could reproduce with witches or other demons; I’d yet to meet a demon, but somehow, the idea of reproducing with one left me cold.

“How’s your night going?”

I turned, feeling like I was underwater and faced a man smiling down at me. He was strange looking, and dopey—sort of like Gomer Pyle. I didn’t say anything and before I knew it, he was sitting next to me.

“The name’s Bradley,” Gomer said. “You having yourself a good night?”

“It’s going. How’s yours?” I asked even though I couldn’t care less about him or his night.

“Better now.” His grin was toothy—it was like a donkey was sitting there and smiling at me.

“Ha.” I managed as he scooted closer to me. I wasnht discreet when I moved farther away from him. He didn’t notice. He must’ve been one of those people who required a bomb dropped in his lap with a note attached to it reading:
I’m not interested
!

“What are you drinking?” he asked as I took a ride on the merry-go-round again.

I dropped my forehead into my palm and closed my eyes, praying the room would stop spinning. “Nothing more, thanks,” I said and pulled my head up. Nope, my prayers hadn’t been answered—the room still spun like a record player.

“I saw you sittin’ here all on your lonesome.”

I rubbed my index fingers on my temples and tried to make the room hold still. I was amazed I was even able to continue the conversation. “I needed to sit one out.”

“I like blonds.”

“What do you want, a medal?” I felt like adding I’d never liked the Andy Griffith Show, but held my tongue. The dumbass wouldn’t get it anyway.

He laughed as if he also liked rude women. “What’s your name?”

“Her name isn’t your concern,” Trent’s voice interrupted us and I turned to see him glaring at the drunk man.

I smiled up at Trent. “Hi, Babe, this is Gomer.”

The man gave me a quizzical look.

“It’s Bradley, actually,” he said.

“Great, Bradley, were you on your way somewhere?” Trent said, and his eyes issued a silent warning.

Bradley dropped his donkey smile and stood up as if he’d been sitting on hot coals. Trent shook his head, laughing as the man figured out what was good for him and vacated his seat. Trent watched him walk away before he took the empty seat.

“I can’t leave you alone for a second,” he said and nibbled on my ear.

“Looked like you were enjoying yourself with your wolf friend.” I regretted sounding so concerned.

Trent laughed. “Is my little witch jealous?”

I shook my head and returned his kisses. “No, I’m not jealous.”

“Looks like you’re drunk.”

I nodded. “Yes I am.”

Trent didn’t appear to be inebriated in the least, and I wondered if werewolves could handle their liquor better than humans could. It seemed Rand handled his liquor with aplomb. Maybe all creatures of the night did? If so, I had to catch up, as I was the epitome of a lightweight.

Trent excused himself to answer a call of nature. As soon as he left, Anne took his place. I couldn’t say I was excited to see her, but I guess she beat another Gomer.

“This is a geat club,” she said.

The club was one I’d never been to before—called Interlude. It was overrun with people who were on the younger side of thirty. It seemed those frequenting it were of the drug persuasion—some seriously strange dancing giving me a clue. And the music was okay, I couldn’t get into techno much. I’m more an eighties fan. Give me some George Michael or Inxs and I’m good to go.

“So, you and Jeffrey have known Trent for a long time?” I asked, attempting to make small talk and praying I wouldn’t lose my stomach.

“A very long time. My brother and he were always good friends and now that they’ve joined packs, they’ll be even closer, I think.”

I frowned—if her brother was going to be closer to Trent, then the same went for her. A sense of foreboding washed over me, and I wondered if Trent would eventually bend to the needs of his pack where I was concerned.

“How long have you and Trent been dating?” Anne asked nonchalantly, but I knew enough to realize she was hanging on my response.

“Maybe a month or so.”

She nodded and dropped her gaze, tracing the mouth of her glass with her index finger. “He seems to really like you.

I frowned. What did one say to that? Sorry, that I’m in a relationship with him when it’s obvious you wish you were? “I really like him—he’s a good guy.”

She stopped tracing the mouth of the glass and downed the rest of her drink. “Yes, he is a good person. Thank you for what you did for him.”

“What I did for him?” I asked, clearly not following her. I was too busy trying to defeat the threat of an upset stomach.

“Bringing him back to life. You don’t know the service you did for us; we can never repay you for that.”

I downplayed it with a wave of my hand; acting as though I’d lent him some sugar, not reanimated him. Hmm, I guess in a manner of speaking, I had lent him some sugar. With an inward smile, I reached for my drink and brushed against Anne’s hand and gasped.

I was so drunk it took me a second to realize I was having a vision. Once it dawned on me, I closed my eyes and focused. It was Anne and she was in trouble—cornered by a werewolf and an adversarial one at that. I could see the fear in her eyes as she attempted to push the wolf away from her. I didn’t know why she didn’t just turn into a wolf, herself, but I didn’t get time to contemplate it as the vision disappeared just as quickly as it had come. What remained was the bitter aftertaste that the wolf had been sent by Bella.

Anne could see the change in my demeanor and paled. “What did you see?” she whispered.

I debated on telling her and decided not to. “It was a quick vision, Anne. Just be… sure you don’t go anywhere alone. Always have Jeffrey with you, okay?” I wondered if she noticed that I left Trent out of that sentence.

Anne nodded. “Was it bad? Was it Jeff?”

This is always the tough part when you know certain things that you shouldn’t know. When it’s good news, that’s easy. Everyone is happy and I’m always pleased to be the bearer of good news. Bad news is a different animal altogether.

“It was you and another wolf.”

She seemed as though she were trying to make sense of my stupid statement. I just couldn’t quite bring myself to extrapolate.

“Did I get killed?”

I snorted and wished I hadn’t sounded so unladylike. “No! It was just a wolf and it was cornering you and growling. That’s why I said just don’t go alone anywhere.”

I had no idea what was going through her head. I tried to imagine what I’d be thinking if I were her and in my current state, I couldn’t think of a damned thing.

“Do you have any idea when it will happen?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No idea. I just see things and I never know when I’m going to see them. As far as when these things happen, I don’t know. It could be days, months or even years.”

She seemed deep in thought. I regretted telling her. It was a huge thing to put on someone’s shoulders—knowing that something bad was going to happen to them, but not knowing the when or where or how of it.

“Thanks,” she said in a small voice. I just nodded and thought it ironic that she’d be thanking me for dropping a bomb right on her doorstep. I lifted my drink and downed the remnants of melted ice.

Luckily, Trent returned. “What do you say we get out of here?” he asked with a secretive smile and tapped me on the butt.

I stood up, swaying with the effort. Trent was immediately by my side. I made the mistake of glancing at Anne who was wearing her worry. I should never have told her anything—I should’ve just made something up. My anger was so palpable, I could’ve choked on it.

I threw my gaze back to Trent, knowing browbeating myself was useless. Then my thoughts turned to the nature of the vision itself. I wasn’t sure why, but this latest episode really got me. Maybe it forced me to face the fact that a battle between the species was not just a faraway dream but was becoming a definite reality with each day that passed.

FOURTEEN

One week later and I found myself in Christa’s bedroom bemoaning my breakup with Trent. I’d managed to keep a boyfriend for about a month and then boom, he dumped me.

“I’m not going to cry about it,” I said with reserve. I hadn’t cried yet, so why start now? Christa sat on her bed and looked at me as you would a cat that’s lost all its limbs, teeth and fur and was trying to hobbler to you for some attention.

“You can cry about it, maybe you should.”

“I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my tears, the miserable jerk.” The truth was that I wasn’t sure Trent was in fact a miserable jerk. After another wolf attack, he’d told me he couldn’t see me until he was sure he wouldn’t threaten my safety. But it was easier to blame and dislike him, so I stuck with it.

Christa pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. “He was only looking out for you.”

I threw myself back on her unmade bed and stared up at the ceiling, the only tidy thing in the room. “That’s what he said, but I think it’s all a front. He said he was only looking out for my safety and because he cares about me so much, he couldn’t see me for a while.”

Then the tears came, but they weren’t tears of missing Trent, more tears of humiliation and those were okay to shed. I wouldn’t cry over my destroyed relationship, but I could cry over the fact that I’d been dumped. I could only imagine he was already gracing the bed of some unfortunate woman. Anne’s face immediately surfaced in my tormented mind and I had to beat the image away.

At least Rand wasn’t home to witness my pathetic display. He’d been gone all week on an errand near London, what errand he hadn’t told Christa and I had no idea, as he hadn’t talked to me since the spectacle with Trent at my house. Usual Rand form.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Christa asked, leaning over to pat my hand reassuringly. “We can have a girl’s night since the boys are out.”

I wiped my tears on my sleeve and sat up. “You don’t have plans with John tonight?”

She shook her head. “No, I told him tonight was for you, I thought you might need it.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t say I was depressed—you know that will go straight back to jerk-face.”

Christa laughed and mimicked zipping her lips closed and throwing away the key. “I didn’t say a word.”

I nodded and traced the pattern of her matelass’e quilt with my fingertip. “How are things with you and John?”

A Texas-sized smile lit up her face. “Good. I really like him.”

I tried to feel happy for her, but it was tough given the fact that my love life sucked balls. I’m sure that sounds insensitive, but at least I’m honest.

“That’s good,” I said and stood up, trying to detect the carpet through the mound of clutter littering Christa’s room. Dirty clothes formed a pyramid in the center of the floor and she had enough dishes lying around to piss of the kitchen.

“I haven’t seen his car up here in a while,” I finished.

She plopped down in an armchair next to the marble fireplace, not bothering to move the dress and wad of socks already sitting there. “That’s because Rand made a rule that no wolves are allowed in his house ever again.”

“Even John?”

She nodded. “He was upset about you and Trent, I think. He left the next morning for London, and all he told me was that he was on business and would be gone for a week. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Has it already been a week? Do you think we should call him?” I asked, worried that Rand was in trouble somewhere.

Christa shook her head. “No, I think Rand is about as safe as safe can be. Who’s going to threaten a warlock?”

I nodded, thinking she made a good point. Rand was at the top of the food chain. Then my thoughts strayed to his recent banning of all wolves from his house. “I don’t know what Rand’s issue is with me. He seems to want me when he can’t have me. God, men are so frustrating.”

“Yes, they are,” Christa agreed and then fell silent. I felt her eyes on me, and my suspicion flared.

“What?” I demanded, and threw myself back on the unmade bed, as if to show her that I wasn’t planning on budging until she came out with whatever was on her mind.

“Rand had a woman over the other night,” she said, looking like she hadn’t wanted to tell me but thought she should all the same.

Like a punctured balloon, my entire being deflated with the news. I’d thought I was over Rand but, apparently, such wasn’t the case. It was as if Fate had conjured up a little vat of jealousy dust and blown it in my ear. I thought I might be sick. “A woman?”

“She wasn’t as pretty as you are.”

I had to laugh at Christa and her good timing. That was the first thought that had entered my head—that I hoped the woman wasn’t beautiful.

“I think she lives in London,” Christa continued.

“Hence his visit down there now,” I finished for her, with a sigh. It felt like a tiny part of me died, and I hated myself for my reaction. The sooner I realized there was nothing between Rand and me and there never would be anything between us, the better.

“Ugh, what is wrong with me?”

Christa shook her head. “You’re a woman.”

“God, Chris, I thought I was over him. Moving out and dating Trent—I really did think I was over him.” Tears pooled in my eyes and Christa jumped up from her chair, throwing her arms around me.

“For all I know, he could be on business,” she said, suffocating me with the smell of her baby powder deodorant.

I patted her hand, thanking her for her reassurance. “It isn’t any of my business anyway.”

Christa nodded and although she allowed me my space, she still sat close by in case I needed another dose of her lovesickness remedy.

“True, but you can’t cape the fact that you both have always wanted one another, but just never acted on it. I guess it’s for the best since these types of things always end and then where would your work relationship be?”

“Nowhere,” I answered, thinking that our work relationship was always the reason we never acted on anything, and I was sick and tired of thinking about it. If I could have taken our “work relationship” out back and shot it full of bullets, I would’ve done so in a heartbeat.

I tried to wade through the crap on Christa’s floor, feeling the sudden need to pace the room. I stopped next to her desk and threw myself into the desk chair, noticing some of her photos sticking out beneath a pink dress. I shifted the dress and picked up the photos. They were all eight by tens. One was a photo in black and white of Pelham Manor. With its gothic façade and gargoyles, it reminded me of Wingfield Hall, Mr. Rochester’s home from Jane Eyre.

The next photo was Rand’s rose garden; the color of the blooms so vivid, it seemed that in just touching the picture, I could rub the redness off on my fingers. “These are beautiful, Chris.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I showed the thumbnails to Rand and he asked me to blow them up so he could hang them around the house. I was going to frame them for him…like a surprise.”

If I hadn’t remembered the spell Rand had put on Christa, which made her feelings for him lean more towards brotherly love than physical love, I might’ve thought she had the hots for him…again. But I knew better.

“He would love that, I’m sure.”

I flipped to the next photo, which was a stylized portrait of Rand in sepia tone. He was dressed in a long sleeved shirt and dark pants. Sitting on a stool, with one leg stretched out before him, he was so rigid, a light breeze could’ve blown him over. And the small smile on his lips looked like he’d been going for the Mona Lisa but never quite got there. He appeared to be completely uncomfortable. I couldn’t help my grin.

“He wanted to frame this one?” I asked.

She shook her head and giggled. “That’s a joke. I threw that one in because he looks so funny. Talk about the worst subject. He was more uncomfortable posing for me than you are.”

I laughed and went to the next photo. It was of me and I was sitting cross-legged on my veranda, Plum in my lap. I was wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt. My hair splayed against my shoulders, on one side a breeze playfully lifting it. I remembered Christa taking the photo, she’d snapped it just as I was telling her not to. I looked happy, a laugh in the process of stealing my lips.

“What are you doing with this?” I asked, holding it up.

Christa dropped her face just the smallest fraction as if shielding a secret. “That’s for Rand. He didn’t want me to tell you.”

“He wanted to frame it?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice.

She nodded. “So much for keeping his secret,” Christa said with an unapologetic smile. “He said it was just so…you.”

“Wow.” I dropped the photos back on her desk. I didn’t know what to think, so I chose to think nothing at all. “Those are really good, Chris. I’m really impressed.”

She smiled. “Thanks, I think I might start taking some photography classes…sharpen my skills a little, you know?”

I suddenly felt like a very bad friend. I hadn’t been super supportive of her talent. Hell, I hadn’t even been around. Had I been so involved with my own life that I’d totally ignored my friend? The answer was pretty obvious. “God, Chris, I’ve been a bad friend lately. I…I’m really sorry.”

She waved my concern away. “Jules, you’ve been so busy with stuff. I can’t even imagine how tough it is to be you right now. Don’t feel bad. It’s just a couple of pictures.”

“No, Chris, I shouldn’t have been so caught up in my own life. I’m really sorry.”

She just smiled. “What do you say we break into a bottle of wine?”

A bottle of wine—just what the doctor ordered. Numbing myself with alcohol. A motto that I tried not to live by, but what the hell, desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Amen to that.” I checked my watch. “It’s eight o’clock, it’s late enough.”

Christa stood up, and I trailed her downstairs into the wine cellar where we approached endless rows of bottle rear ends. Neither one of us a wine connoisseur, we just stood there in silent indecision.

“Do you think he’s saving any of them?” Christa asked.

I shook my head. I didn’t give a crap if he was or not. “Who cares?”

Christa laughed. “I like your attitude, Jules.” Her hands hovered over the bottles as if she wasn’t sure which one to go with.

“Close your eyes and pick one,” I said with a grin.

She shut her eyes and reached out like someone playing pin the tail on the donkey and grabbed a Merlot. She opened her eyes and eyed the bottle before returning her gaze to the wall of bottles.

“Maybe a couple more?”

I laughed, thinking the more the merrier. “Sure, couldn’t hurt.”

After loading ourselves with four bottles of wine: a Merlot, a Chardonnay, a Pinot Grigio and a Syrah for good measure, we retired to Christa’s room. She turned on her CD player and some new age type music came pouring out.

“What the hell is this?” I asked with a frown, taking a seat on her bed while she followed suit.

“It’s my meditation music.”

“What? Since when do you do that?”

She raised her brows and pasted an indignant smile on her face. “John says it’s good for the soul.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, God.”

The meditation music wafted out of the speakers, sounding like something you’d hear in an elevator in a cheap hotel somewhere in the Midwest.

“We forgot glasses didn’t we?” she asked, pulling my attention from the “music”. I nodded while she leaned across her bed and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a corkscrew.

“You keep one in your drawer?” I asked with a laugh.

“You never know when you’re going to need one.” She popped the cork on the Merlot and swigged from the bottle, looking like the quintessential wino. Wiping her arm across her mouth, she handed the bottle to me.

I held up the wine. “To drinking four bottles with no glasses while listening to the crappiest music I’ve ever heard.”

Christa grabbed the Pinot with a giggle and popped the cork, holding it up to imitate my salute. “Cheers.”

Two hours later and we were both hammered. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed a girls’ night. But, after talking about Spokane and what our lives used to be like, boyfriends and breakups, I’d realized exactly how much I’d missed a little estrogen in my life.

“You want some more?” Christa asked, her right eye drooping like an old lady’s pantyhose. It was the sign that Christa was drunk. She said it was a form of lazy eye; I just thought it was hysterical and laughed although I tried to hide it with an inconspicuous cough.

“Count me in.” I thrust my hand out, and she rammed the bottle of Chardonnay into my palm. “Which bottle are we on?”

“Um, three I think.” She hiccupped.

I downed the remnants and let the bottle drop to the carpet, watching it roll across the floor until it butted into a pile of People magazines.

“What time is it?”

Christa never wore a watch so she grabbed her cell phone from her pocket, squinting at it with her droopy eye. “Nearly midnight.”

“I feel sick,” I said and tried to stand up, using her shoulder to get to my feet. “I gotta go to bed.” Once I managed to stand on my own for a few seconds, I turned and started for her door, my feet like flippers.